The Coltons of Texas

The Coltons of Texas saga reaches its thrilling climax with a tale of Christmas justice!

Ex-cop Reid Colton is working double-time to help beautiful widow Penelope Barrington Clark. While investigating her dad, his family lawyer, the two are also trying to uncover who murdered Pen’s husband...all while keeping their relationship professional! But when a bullet and their forbidden attraction change everything, it’s Reid to the rescue, determined to guard Pen and her son with his life.

The last thing Penelope wants is to fall for a sexy Colton who’s not looking for forever. Yet as Christmas approaches and their investigation heats up, the three start to feel like a family. And the best present of all? Solving the Colton clan’s biggest mystery!

Penelope stared at him, her expression skeptical. “Reid, I don’t think this is—”

“Can you trust me on this?”

She lifted an eyebrow as if to say, Are you kidding me?

“Please,” he added. “I thought you believed me about what happened with Andrew.”

“Maybe. I...” Her shoulders slumped. “I haven’t really had a chance to process it. My hesitance is not really about what happened with Andrew. Not completely. I just...” She blew out a tired breath. “So much has happened today. My head is spinning.”

Reid closed the distance between them and stroked a hand down her arm. Grasping her elbow, he drew her even closer and held her gaze. “Can you at least believe I’m your friend? That I care about what happens to you and Nicholas, and I’m trying to do what is best for you?”

She moistened her lips, and just the glimpse of her tongue sliding along the seam of her mouth sent a shock wave of lust pounding through him.

* * *

We hope you enjoy this dramatic series:

The Coltons of Texas: Finding love and buried family secrets in the Lone Star State...

Dear Reader,

Over the years, I’ve had the pleasure of contributing to several Colton continuities. Like Harlequin readers, I love this passionate, engaging, often dysfunctional (LOL!) family, so it was a pleasure to write this wrap-up book for The Coltons of Texas. In addition, I love Christmas, so adding elements of the holiday to this story was a fun bonus!

Penelope and Reid have a bit of baggage to sort through before they can get to their happily-ever-after, especially when a shooter comes after them. But in true Colton style, Reid isn’t about to let Penelope or her small son get hurt, and he takes her to his private hideaway. Tucked away in Reid’s lake house, the sparks fly and it is soon obvious the shooter isn’t the only thing from which Penelope needs to protect herself. Can she trust Reid with her life...and her heart?

Happy reading, merry holidays, and all the best to you and yours,

Beth Cornelison

Colton Christmas Protector

Beth Cornelison

www.millsandboon.co.uk

BETH CORNELISON began working in public relations before pursuing her love of writing romance. She has won numerous honors for her work, including a nomination for the RWA RITA® Award for The Christmas Stranger. She enjoys featuring her cats (or friends’ pets) in her stories and always has another book in the pipeline! She currently lives in Louisiana with her husband, one son and three spoiled cats. Contact her via her website, bethcornelison.com.

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

Andrew’s funeral was well attended, the burial full of the pomp and ceremonial rites traditionally on display for a fallen police officer. His brothers and sisters in blue packed the church and lined the street as the funeral procession made its way to the cemetery.

Through it all, Reid Colton tried to stay in the background. He knew his presence could prove a distraction from the send-off Andrew deserved, and he refused to be responsible for any disruption to the service. Seeing all the dress uniforms, the military-like formality of the service, made Reid glad he’d never made formal allegations that his partner was mixed up in something bad.

Whatever Andrew had gotten involved with in recent weeks didn’t negate the years of loyal service and heroism Andrew Clark had shown the community and the police force. Andrew had been a good friend, a great partner and a decorated police detective. Reid’s purpose in investigating Andrew, in making his quiet allegations of theft and drug use, was only an effort to rein in his partner, to bring him to his senses before he got in over his head. Before Andrew got addicted, got arrested, got thrown off the force in disgrace.

For his efforts to save his partner’s career, save Andrew’s life, Reid had become the one under investigation, the one whose career had been sacrificed due to innuendo and unsubstantiated claims of wrongdoing.

Hugh Barrington, the Colton family’s lawyer and Andrew’s father-in-law, had tried to salvage Reid’s reputation and position with the police department, but in the end, Reid had walked away in disgust. He’d given too many years, too much of his heart and soul to his post as a Dallas police detective to continue working under the shadow of suspicion. He wouldn’t put himself through the indignity of skeptical side glances, sneers of disrespect and walls of silence from his fellow officers. He’d rather leave on his own terms than wait to be cleared of the trumped-up charges or let half-truths end his career. He had his pride. He was a Colton, after all, and he deserved some modicum of respect for all his family had done for the community, if not for his years of service, loyalty and sweat.

Yet even knowing he was persona non grata, he’d needed to come today. He had unfinished business. And so, after the interment ended and the crowd of well-wishers had largely dispersed, he made his way toward Andrew’s wife, wanting only to extend his sympathies. Penelope Barrington Clark dabbed at her eyes as the chief of police spoke to her and gave her hand a consoling pat. Pen, as Andrew and her close friends called her, flashed a strained smile, the corners of her mouth quivering with the effort to be polite. Once the chief walked away and while Pen greeted an older couple, Reid stepped out of the shadow of the big oak tree where he’d lingered, waiting, and approached his partner’s widow.

He’d spent numerous Sunday afternoons in the Clarks’ home, watching the Cowboys with Andrew. He’d driven Andrew from a stakeout to the hospital when Pen had gone into labor a week early, and he’d been one of the first to hold their son, Nicholas, when he was born a few short hours later. He’d been to cookouts, birthday parties and the celebration following Nicholas’s baptism. He’d come to count Penelope Barrington Clark as one of his closest friends. After all, she was Hugh Barrington’s daughter. As the daughter of the Colton family’s lawyer, he’d known of Penelope even before he’d gotten to know her. He’d admired her from afar as a randy teenager and been the one to introduce her to Andrew at a police-department fundraising event seven years ago.

He never regretted that Penelope had chosen to marry Andrew. They’d been happy together, and he’d been happy for them. But he’d been a tad jealous of his partner. While Reid had his back turned and his womanizing interests focused elsewhere, Pen had grown from a shy but attractive teenager into a tall and willowy bombshell. More important, Pen and Andrew had built the kind of domestic partnership and loving home he secretly longed for. They may have been solidly middle class, living solely on Andrew’s detective’s salary after Pen’s falling-out with her wealthy father, but all of the Coltons’ billions hadn’t made his home life as harmonious and satisfying as what the Clarks had shared. Which, he knew, meant Andrew’s death was all the harder for Pen.

Reid kept a steady gaze on her as he approached, waiting for that moment when she first saw him. After years of studying people, their body language and emotional tells, he knew her first reaction to seeing him would be her most honest one. Penelope had always had a certain grace bred into her by her society parents. But today, with her silky auburn hair twisted up in a severe knot at her nape, her ivory skin blotchy from crying and her hazel eyes luminous with tears as she grieved her husband, she looked fragile. Vulnerable. Yet still as beautiful as a cherished china doll. Reid’s gut twisted seeing her so wrecked by her grief, so torn. Though she was surrounded by mourners offering condolences and had her father standing just behind her in a theatrical show of solidarity, Reid knew from the bleak look in her eyes, the wooden formality of her expression, she felt completely alone in her loss.

He wished he could simply push his way to the front of the crowd and pull her into a bear hug. But how would that impulse be received? Did she buy into the hype and lies that had been told about him since Andrew’s death? Was there any of the old respect and friendship left?

That instant moment of truth came as she dropped the hand of the older man, turned toward the last woman in the line of well-wishers...and her eyes met Reid’s. For one second, that first startled heartbeat, her one unguarded moment of recognition, she stared at him. He saw the raw emotion, the heartache and her longing for the refuge and support she knew he’d give her. And he prayed his eyes said all that was in his heart, because that one brief moment was all he had before her hazel eyes grew glacial.

Her shoulders stiffened and her back drew up straighter. Despite the hostile ice in her glare, he approached her. “Pen, I’m so sorry for—”

“You have a lot of nerve showing up here,” she spat at him, spots of color rising in her cheeks.

“Pen, I only wanted—”

“No!” She raised a trembling hand to ward him off. Then aiming her index finger at him like a gun, she snarled, “I don’t ever want to see you or your lying face again! Leave me the hell alone, Reid.”

Her warning hit him in the gut, as painful and final as if she had fired bullets at him instead of icy words. “If you’d just hear me out, Pen, I only wanted—”

“You heard her, Reid.” A firm hand closed on his shoulder and pulled him away from Penelope. “I think you should go.”

Reid turned to meet the cool blue gaze of Hugh Barrington. Behind his silver-framed glasses, Hugh’s eyes narrowed. The man’s squinty-eyed glare reminded Reid of the teasing way he and his brothers had referred to the man as The Weasel as kids, because of Hugh’s narrow eyes and ferret-like swath of dark hair.

“I can handle him on my own, Father,” Pen grated, turning her chilly stare on Hugh. “I don’t need a keeper. And if I did, it certainly would not be you. Not after you defended a Colton, took his side over Andrew’s. I’ll never forgive you for standing behind a Colton instead of my husband!”

If Reid had wondered whether the strained relationship between Hugh Barrington and his daughter had been set aside during this family crisis, he had his answer. A resounding no.

Pen whirled away from the men and stalked off, her chin high and her mouth pressed in a taut line of fury. She made a beeline to the waiting black Cadillac, where the funeral director stood with the back door open. A woman Reid thought he recognized from one of the Clarks’ barbecues—a neighbor or college friend of Pen’s maybe?—stood next to the Cadillac, as well, holding Pen’s six-month-old son, Nicholas. Penelope took her son from the woman, kissing his forehead and cradling him close. She took a moment to hug the baby, her eyes closed and cheek against his hair. Reid could see her body visibly relax as she held Nicholas, her baby’s presence clearly calming her frayed nerves. Finally, she raised her head and sent one last backward glance to her husband’s casket. Where Reid still stood. Watching her.

Her chest heaved with a deep sigh or a sob that she’d tried to choke down, then she spun away and slid into the backseat of the Cadillac. The funeral director closed the door, climbed in the front passenger side and the black vehicle pulled away.

A hollow pang assailed Reid’s chest as the car carried Pen away. As inappropriate as it was, especially here at his former partner’s graveside, he couldn’t ignore the facts. Pen hated him, blamed him for Andrew’s death. And he still harbored an undeniable lust for Penelope Barrington Clark.

Eighteen months later

The bitter tones of a woman sobbing set off alarm bells for Reid as he left his suite one morning in December the following year. His family had endured no shortage of tragedy, danger and suspicion of late, and the fact that a woman was crying somewhere on the first floor of the mansion didn’t bode well. On the other hand, his mother, Whitney, was known for her theatrics and overreactions, and the voice sounded like hers. He’d never been close to either of his parents, and for the last several years, he’d demonstrated as much by addressing them by their first names.

“Now what?” he mumbled to himself as he closed the door of his upstairs suite and headed toward the kitchen to find a late breakfast. He hated the prickle of dread that bad news waited downstairs. Was it his father, Eldridge? Was there bad news on his whereabouts?

Early this summer, his elderly father had gone missing from his bedroom in the main house of the ranch. Foul play was suspected, and speculation and suspicion had been thrown about within the family for the last six months with little real progress other than to eliminate several of his siblings as suspects. Reid had dabbled at finding his father, kept abreast of the investigation, but he still had a bad taste in his mouth for the police and their crime investigations based on the way his own case had been handled. Frustration over how the search for his missing father had stalled ate at him most days, but he knew what local law enforcement would say if he tried to intervene. Leave it alone, Reid. You’re not a cop anymore.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t still itch to take over the investigation and show the incompetents handling the case how effective detective work was done.

The glimmer of winter sun streaking through the foyer windows told him how late in the morning it had gotten while he lolled in bed and took his lingering hot shower. He used to be an early riser. He used to religiously get up before the ranch hands and head out for a run before the sun was up. But then he used to have a job to get up for, stay fit for, start his mornings early for. In the last eighteen months, he’d begun sleeping later, skipping days at the gym and generally hating the tedium of spending his days at the ranch with little to occupy his time.

To pass a few hours in recent weeks, he’d chased a few rabbits concerning Eldridge’s case to no avail and worked with his siblings on a few matters where his expertise was useful. He’d spent some time this fall riding his horse, fishing and reading some of the dusty books in the ranch library. But for the most part these days, he was at loose ends.

He trotted down the grand staircase in his family’s mansion, the crown jewel sitting at the heart of their working ranch, Colton Valley Ranch. Although he’d invested in an apartment in Austin, a lake house that he used as a secret getaway and a condo in Aspen for weekends when he wanted to ski, he still spent most of his time at the family ranch.

Truth be told, he didn’t want to move out. The daily histrionics and chaos of the family mansion were better than any British TV drama or American reality show. And despite all their nutty, backstabbing, snobbish ways, he knew he’d miss his family if he moved out. How could he live alone after growing up in this twisted version of the Brady Bunch? He’d really be bored then. And lonely.

Seeing his siblings pairing off with their soul mates and moving on with their lives in recent months had sharpened his sense of being alone, even in the midst of the hustle, bustle and drama of Colton Valley Ranch. The coming Christmas holiday only emphasized his feelings of idleness and solitude. Reid didn’t do bored well. His restlessness was building, and he knew he needed an outlet for his frustrations over his stalled life and the stagnant investigation concerning Eldridge. Something had to give, or he’d lose it.

Speaking of losing it...he thought as he strolled into the kitchen in search of coffee and found his mother dabbing at her eyes and bawling into a napkin at the breakfast-nook table.

“Mother?” he said warily, not really wanting to get caught up in one of her tedious emotional rants, but unable to completely ignore her tears. “What’s wrong?”

Whitney raised her head and gave him a bleary glance from green eyes rimmed with smeared mascara. “What do you think is wrong? I miss my Dridgey-pooh.”

Reid clenched his back teeth. “I’ve asked you not to call him that around me. It’s a little too nauseating, especially at this hour of the morning.”

She lifted her chin and gave a haughty sniff. “Well, you certainly got up on the wrong side of the bed.”

Reid ignored her rebuttal and lifted the coffee carafe to examine the sludge that remained in the pot. “Bettina?” he called and the family cook scuttled out from the prep room adjoining the kitchen.

“Yes, sir? Would you like me to fix you some eggs or sausage?”

He shook his head. “Just some fresh coffee, please. I’m not hungry.”

Bettina got busy brewing a new pot of coffee, and Reid strolled over to the table where his mother sat with the newspaper.

“Was there something in the paper about Eldridge?” He nodded to the folded Dallas Morning News by her tea mug.

“No,” Whitney answered with a pout, still wiping her eyes and sniffling. “Everyone seems to have forgotten he’s still missing except me!”

“No one’s forgotten, Mother. We just haven’t had any new leads to follow up in a few days. Instead of crying, you should be happy the burned body they found wasn’t Eldridge.”

The previous month, thanks to a tip from Hugh Barrington, a body was recovered from a car wreck and was believed to be the Colton patriarch’s corpse...long enough for Eldridge’s will to be read. But further inquiries proved the body’s ID had been faked, putting the search for Reid’s father back to square one.

“I am glad the body wasn’t his,” Whitney replied, squaring her shoulders. “And don’t tell me how to feel!” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You could stand to be a little more upset over Dridgey—over Eldridge’s disappearance. He’s you father, after all. Don’t you care—”

“Save it!” he said holding up a hand. “I’m in no mood for a lecture.”

“Reid! Don’t you think—”

“Pardon me, ma’am.”

Reid silently thanked the butler, Aaron Manfred, for his interruption and sneaked back over to the counter to hover by the coffeepot. He shouldn’t have had Bettina brew a new pot just for him. He could have made a Starbucks run. It wasn’t like he had anything else on his calendar today.

“I was hoping I might be able to take the evening off tonight.”

“Again?” Whitney snapped.

“Yes, ma’am.” Aaron gave a quick nod, clearly unrattled by Whitney’s waspishness. But then, Aaron had been dealing with the moody and snobbish Coltons for as long as Reid could remember. “Moira will be here and will be happy to help you with anything that should arise.”

“But why? What do you—” Whitney clamped her lips together and flapped a hand at the man. “Oh, go ahead. It’s not like my husband is here to need you.”

And with that statement, she ducked her head and began sobbing again. “Oh, Dridgey-pooh!”

With an impatient grunt, Reid snatched the coffeepot from the maker before it finished brewing and poured himself a steaming mugful. “I’m going out.”

He didn’t know where, but he had to get out of the claustrophobic atmosphere of the mansion. Maybe as a favor to his mother, to the whole family really, he’d check up on the progress of the search for Eldridge. Or better yet, he’d do some searching of his own. The case was growing as cold as their frost-dusted ranch pastures. No more procrastinating. The time had come for someone to break this case. If the police were going to drag their feet, then Reid would find his father by himself.

Chapter 2

Penelope Barrington Clark stood in the threshold of Andrew’s office/man cave and gathered her courage. She’d procrastinated cleaning out the room as long as she could. Immediately after his death, well-meaning friends had offered to help her with the painful task, but she’d put them off. How could she possibly throw out or give away all the things Andrew had owned, touched, cherished? Wasn’t it bad enough he was gone? Losing all of the possessions that cluttered his home office would have added salt to her wounds.

But the house had sold more quickly than she’d anticipated it would. She and Nicholas were downsizing, moving to a more affordable home. Ironic that she, a Barrington, needed to worry about finances, but she refused to take a dime from her wealthy father, and Andrew’s death benefit from the police department didn’t cover the mortgage and all her expenses. She knew she’d have to get a job, was all right with the idea, but she’d put it off. She’d wanted to dedicate as much time to Nicholas while he was young as she could. He would only be a toddler once, and she couldn’t stand the idea of missing any of his baby days.

The new house needed work, but it was in an outlying area with good schools and plenty of parks with playgrounds where Nicholas could run and climb as he grew older.

Andrew will never see Nicholas start kindergarten or jump out of a swing. The kamikaze thought shot straight to her heart with a sharp, piercing ache. She squeezed her eyes shut and balled her hands at her sides as she forced the stray thought down, tucked it away. If only she could pack up the random painful reminders and reflections like shards of a broken mirror to be discarded forever. Time was supposed to heal her wounds, but eighteen months after Andrew’s death, she still groped her way through the morass of memories and unexpected flashes of insight that dragged her down like quicksand.